


the story of who I am

by davidbrewer



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: David Rose is a Good Person, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jocks are really fucking LOUD, M/M, Patrick Brewer is a Button, Post-Canon, Queer Themes, Self-Acceptance, domestic husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davidbrewer/pseuds/davidbrewer
Summary: David says, "It's not too late to stay at the motel," after a beat, his lithe fingertips brushing gently along Patrick's arm; he watches as they sweep back and forth from his wrist to his elbow. David is using that sweet, sincere voice of his, too, taking Patrick back to that afternoon before his first surprise party: David on the couch beside him as he softly said,"I canjustbe your business partner tonight."Patrick shakes his head now, just like he had back then. "No. No, I want to go," he says, the steady rhythm of David's touch solidifying his decision even further. "You're my husband, David. I want to bring you home." His teeth pull his bottom lip into his mouth. "I don't even know why I'm still nervous."Except… He does. Sort of.Or: Patrick brings David home while the house is undergoing renovations. He has a lot of feelings about it.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 29
Kudos: 293





	the story of who I am

**Author's Note:**

> So, there was a whole disaster with my bathroom having a leak and needing to be completely redone... and, somehow, that got me thinking about this.
> 
> Thanks to [fishyspots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishyspots) for helping me pull this together when I got stuck, and my best girl, [Mertzie](https://horton-hears.tumblr.com) for reading it before I got the nerve to post it.
> 
> This is my first time writing these characters, so be gentle.

Patrick's alarm goes off at 5:30 a.m. Beside him, his husband makes an unhappy sound, as David is wont to do at this hour — he's not a morning person, and he made that very clear, _very_ early in their relationship. As a result, most of their weekday mornings go like this: Patrick's alarm goes off, and David whines about it. Patrick will then turn off the alarm, kiss David's head, and leave to shower. An hour later, Patrick will return with a mug of coffee for his husband, gently wake him again, and leave to open the store. It's a well-oiled routine and, if he's honest, Patrick cherishes it.

It just… usually happens an hour later...

"Oh my _god,_ make it stop." 

Patrick opens his eyes to see David's arm directly above him, waving sleepily towards the wailing phone on the bedside counter; it's cute enough that Patrick wants to leave it sitting there another few moments later, until — 

_"Paa-atrick!"_

David practically rolls on top of him and slams his hand over the phone; he slides it off the table and squints at the screen before aggressively pressing the 'stop' button blinking on the touchscreen. He drops it on Patrick's chest before turning to cuddle into his side. 

"Why did we agree to be at your parents' house by lunch, again? Was that your idea?" 

David's stubble is rough against the skin of Patrick's neck as he nuzzles, and it's one of those little things that Patrick marvels at every time (even more so when it's between his legs instead). It's one of the things that he loves about being with a man — being with _David_.

Patrick snorts. "Actually, you're the one who was adamant about seeing the… How did you phrase it…?" He deliberately trails off. "The 'darling' brunch spot downtown?"

"Well, _at the time_ , I didn't know that meant _waking up_ in the _middle of the night."_

"It's five in the _morning,_ David. Some people wake up at this time every day."

"Mmkay," David says, barely opening one eye to look at him. "That's their problem."

"I'm just saying."

"Well, say _less._ " David's voice is nothing short of petulant. "I'm not awake enough for the witty banter."

"I'm pretty sure I'm the one who carries the _witty_ half of our banter, regardless."

At that, David finally lifts his head. "Um, rude?" His thick brows furrow, but the sideways smile just _barely_ tugging at his lips give him away. 

"C'mon, we've gotta get going if we're gonna stop for breakfast." Patrick pats the arm David has draped over his waist. "And there's _no way_ I'm gonna survive a six-hour drive if we don't feed you."

  
  
  
  
  
  


Patrick is staring into his coffee cup when he hears David slide exaggeratedly back into the booth. "I'm, like, 97 percent sure you're right about Twyla having a crush on my sister," he says. "I don't think I've seen her wear something from her _own_ wardrobe since — Patrick?"

He lifts his head and blinks, watching as David takes a long sip from his own coffee. "Hmm? What?"

"Hi, this is a rare moment where I admit you're right about something, and it deserves your _full_ attention." David squints at him. "You okay?" 

Patrick half-smiles as David's hand gently drops to his arm. "Yeah, yeah," he says. "I'm just thinking. Been a while since I've been home, that's all."

 _A while._

That's an understatement. 

This time, his nerves have nothing to do with his parents. It's only been six months since he'd seen them — when they'd come to Schitt's Creek for the wedding — and they _adore_ David. That particular hurdle is behind them. The _problem_ is that it's been years since he'd stayed in his old bedroom. _Years_ since he'd stepped foot in his hometown: the same one he'd run from after breaking things off with Rachel for the last time. _Years_ since he saw his own townies, since he'd driven past his old high school, since he sat in the 'darling brunch spot' he used to take Rachel on Sundays.

Why had he even agreed to this?

It'd all started when they'd run into a hiccup in the renovations, he guesses. A leak in the bathroom sink leached into their bedroom wall, which meant they needed to tear down the drywall and replace it for fear of mold. Naturally, when his mother got word, she'd suggested that he and David spend the weekend with her and his father. At the time, it'd seemed like no big deal.

Now, though… Thinking about bringing David, _his husband,_ into that now-foreign place, it stirs something unfamiliar (and unpleasant) in his stomach.

It's apparently obvious, too, because David says, "It's not too late to stay at the motel," after a beat, his lithe fingertips brushing gently along Patrick's arm; he watches as they sweep back and forth from his wrist to his elbow. David is using that sweet, sincere voice of his, too, taking Patrick back to that afternoon before his first surprise party: David on the couch beside him as he softly said, _"I can_ just _be_ _your business partner tonight."_

Patrick shakes his head now, just like he had back then. "No. No, I want to go," he says, the steady rhythm of David's touch solidifying his decision even further. "You're my husband, David. I want to bring you home." His teeth pull his bottom lip into his mouth. "I don't even know why I'm still nervous."

Except… He does—sort of.

See, in Schitt's Creek, he's Patrick Brewer: a successful business owner, proudly running a thriving boutique with his husband by his side. Back home, he was always just Pat: high school baseball star and ex-fiance to a woman who deserved better. For so long, he'd tried to hold those two Patricks far away from each other; one is his past, and the other is his future. There was never any need for a collision. Bringing them together now feels _absolutely terrifying_ for reasons that he feels in his gut, but... doesn't know how to articulate. 

He's proud of who he's become.

He's proud of his business, proud of his husband…

...and, yet, somehow, it still feels like he'll be standing in the shadow of who he used to be — or, more aptly, who he once _pretended_ to be. At the same time, he's also almost _ashamed_ of that person. Of how well he'd buried his real self before David set him free.

"Hey, it's… It's complicated," David says, understanding as always when he breaks Patrick from his thoughts. It almost makes him feel worse. "What are you nervous about, exactly? Are you afraid of… what people will think? Of..."

Patrick stops him before he can dive too far into that thought. "Of course not, David. I love you, and I'm proud of us. It's not what you think. It's not like _that_. I just…" His husband's fingertips still trail across his skin, like a calming metronome. "If anything, I'm afraid of what _you'll_ think of _me_. Last time I was home… I mean, when I was growing up, I was _different_. I don't know how to explain it. I'm afraid that I'll…"

"Fall into old habits?" David completes for him.

"Sort of? Yeah, I… I spent so long trying to be this other person that I… I'm afraid that I'll go backward. Is that stupid?" He pauses. "That's stupid."

David stops stroking his arm and instead slides his hand down to twine their fingers. "It's not stupid," he assures him. "What you're feeling? It's totally normal. Honestly, I don't know how I'd feel if we'd ended up moving to New York. We both started something new here, and… It's _normal_ to be nervous about going home. I mean, like, lots of people can't _ever_ do it. Or so I hear. There are tons of songs about it."

Patrick laughs, a warm feeling swelling in his chest. "Thank you, David."

David shakes his head and leans over the table to give him a soft kiss. "You don't have to thank me." His face is close enough that Patrick nearly goes cross-eyed, trying to meet his gaze, so he just kisses him again.

They stay like that for a moment, elbows propping them up over the table before David pulls back and plops back into his seat, "Now, if I recall, you owe me _several_ cups of coffee and a spectacular breakfast, or you can _forget_ me actually staying awake for this drive."

Patrick smiles. "Okay, David."

  
  
  
  


Unsurprisingly, David is sleeping in the passenger seat when Patrick pulls into his childhood home driveway. 

It's almost a relief because it gives Patrick the chance to take a breath and brace himself before gently waking his husband and stepping out of the car. He's rifling through the trunk for their bags when he hears his father's voice.

"Well, if it isn't the newlyweds," Clint says, smiling as Marcy speed-walks past him. 

Patrick barely has time to say, "Hey," before his mother is hugging him tightly.

"We're so glad you're here, sweetheart." Marcy wobbles them a bit from side-to-side, and Patrick sees David move forward to embrace his new father-in-law. 

Then they switch. Once everyone is good and hugged, and the obligatory small talk about the drive is over with, they head into the house. 

It's exactly how he remembers.

To his left, the tv is quietly airing the local news in their cozy living room, surrounded by upholstered couches that David will certainly say something about when they're alone. He figures he'll give his husband a full tour later (not that there's a ton of area to tour - it's a pretty modest house), but for now, they have bags to unpack.

"You two go ahead and get settled," Clint says. "We'll be out back — come grab us when you're ready to get a bite to eat."

David chirps, "Won't be long!" and Patrick laughs.

"Come on; my room is this way."

Pictures line the hallway on the way to the bedroom: Patrick as a baby, Patrick in his Little League uniform, the whole family on a ski vacation in Alberta… And, right on end, there's a shot of Patrick and Rachel before prom, gardenia corsage hanging on her wrist. 

Patrick's eyes flick to David, who immediately looks away but doesn't say a word or do that thing he does with his mouth when he's _really_ bothered by something.

"We, um… That's prom," he says, lamely. 

"Mm, yeah, put that one together, yep."

Quickly, Patrick ushers David into his room, drops his duffle on the bed, and David does the same with his. He's… _pretty_ sure there aren't any pictures of himself and Rachel in here. His parents didn't touch it, even after moving out, so the walls are still mostly full of baseball and hockey memorabilia. Patrick half expects to see David looking a little bitter, but when he looks up, he's got that cute sideways smile on his lips.

"This is the most heterosexual bedroom I've seen in my life."

Patrick laughs first, and then David follows. When he folds his arms over his chest, Patrick's eyes immediately fall to his rings — his engagement and wedding rings catch the light as it peeks through the blinds — and he feels his face get hot.

"Yeah," he says, shifting on his feet.

David moves toward him, smile softening. "Guess we gotta… do something about that." He puts his hands on his face, and Patrick can't help but smile before David leans in.

  
  


After brunch, Patrick and David break off to do some exploring on their own; Patrick's father suggested that David get a grand tour, and Patrick couldn't exactly say no.

And Patrick should be _excited_ to show his husband the place he grew up. _He_ is the one who loves this sappy shit — who loves _sharing_ things with David, the emotional side of it all. 

He _could_ show him the field he learned to play baseball, the tree he fell out of when he broke his clavicle, the little coffee shop where he organized open mic nights in high school… but, when he looks around right now, Patrick doesn't see those things. He sees the facade he wore, the times he broke his back trying to fit into the wrong molds, the little white lies that rolled off his tongue so often he convinced _himself_ he was honest. 

That wasn't his _entire_ life here. There _was_ good here.

So why is it all he can see now?

David must sense that Patrick is uncomfortable because he keeps his hands uncharacteristically to himself as they walk down the strip. Honestly, Patrick almost reaches over and takes his hand; it's not David he's ashamed of, after all. It's this _place._ It's like he's wired not to be himself here, to hide.

"Remember when I said that I did open mic nights all the time in high school?" Patrick says anyway, pointing to a small coffee shop across the street. "It was over there."

David's smile is fond but otherwise unreadable. "Show me."

  
  
  


They're sitting at a table in the small cafe when Patrick starts feeling like himself again. David has a hand on his knee under the table, and Patrick is telling him about the time he had to run from an overtime game straight to the cafe for a set he'd signed up for on the same day; he'd ended up playing an Oasis song in a sweaty baseball uniform. 

"My _god,_ " David says, and Patrick smiles. "What were you, a character on Glee?" Patrick breaks into a laugh at that, and David keeps going, an air of faux suspense in his voice: "Oooh, will he choose the glee club finals, or the… baseball… competition... thing?"

"Championship," Patrick says, hiding his blush behind his coffee cup.

"Whatever." David loosely waves his hand. "You are an enigma, Patrick Brewer."

For a moment, it's just them — Patrick and his husband — and the shame has melted away like it always does with David. With David, Patrick feels nothing but pride.

But then a voice makes him jump, and David tenses his shoulders.

"Son of a bitch, is that you, Brewer?"

Patrick looks at David to say _it's okay, just a harmless jock,_ and stands up. "Hey, Matt," he says, holding out his hand. His old friend slaps his palm into his and pulls him in for one of those chest bumps straight men do instead of hugging — the kind of thing that he wouldn't have thought twice about before he moved to Schitt's Creek. Before David.

He turns to introduce the man still at the table, bracing himself for what will either be incredibly awkward or overwhelmingly supportive — it could go either way, at this point — when Matt's booming voice beats him to the punch.

"Is that a wedding ring? Oh, man, did you and Rachel _finally_ get your shit together?"

_Awkward, it is._

Patrick's eyes flick once again to David, whose jaw just sets, the _distaste_ about that written clearly on his face. Disguising his emotions has never been his forte. 

"No, actually I —" 

"Shit. I didn't see that coming. Who's the girl?" 

Patrick laughs uncomfortably. "Um, well, _actually,_ Matt," he gestures to David, sitting at the table with a tight-lipped smile. He lifts his hand and waves two fingers at him. Patrick says, "This is my husband, David."

He watches the realization dawn on Matt's face. "Oh," he says, visibly trying to shake off the surprise. "Wow, Pat, I had no idea that you were…" 

He trails off, and Patrick surprises himself by completing the sentence for him: 

"Gay?" 

He looks at David, feeling something strange stir in his chest — not because of David, but because of what Matt said. _I had no idea._

"Yeah. Me neither."

"Good for you, then, man."

A few moments of awkward small-talk later and Patrick drops back into his chair with an apologetic smile. 

"You okay?" David asks.

Patrick reaches across the table to cover David's hand with his; his thumb brushes softly along the top of his hand, over his rings.

"I'm fine."

When they leave the cafe and start walking back home, Patrick stubbornly twines their fingers and leads the way.

  
  
  


He's not fine.

They're lying in his old full-size bed, David's arms wrapped around Patrick as he stares up at the ceiling. They'd walked around a bit, did some grocery shopping for the week — a gesture of thanks for Patrick's parents — and Marcy made dinner. Overall, it was a _nice_ day, but Matt's voice circles around his head as he's trying to go to sleep.

"Why does it bother me so much, David?"

"Your bizarre attachment to that upholstery is _beyond_ me." 

David is _well_ aware that they're not talking about Patrick's refusal to renovate his childhood living room; Patrick knows that, and it makes him love David a little more.

"I mean…" he says, smiling softly. "I fooled _everyone_. Being here, it… reminds me how much time I spent living a lie, you know?" He pauses, sitting up and leaning back on his elbows. "I mean, you heard Matt. _Nobody_ knew — not my parents, not Rachel, Matt… Not even me, David. Even _you_ said something about my 'heterosexual' bedroom."

David sighs. "I didn't mean anything by that, Patrick."

"I know you didn't, but..." He looks at David again, eyes brimming. He can feel the emotion creeping into his voice, making it shake slightly. "I just wanted everything to be _right._ But I didn't even know what that was. I thought I did, but… it wasn't. Right."

David turns to lie on his side, propping his head up on his elbow. "Mmm. Okay, I hear you, I do, but… Some of it _was_ actually right, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, your stereotypical jock bedroom, for starters," he says. "Patrick, you _are_ the guy who plays a baseball game and an open mic night on the same day. This room? It has _you_ written all over it." He pauses, seemingly choosing his next words carefully. "I know you feel like your life here was a lie, but it was _your truth_ at the time. You've changed, and you figured out what wasn't working _in your own time._ On your terms. That's all you can do."

Patrick considers this a moment. "I just thought that if I took control and put the old me behind me, I could just _start over_ in another town. So that's what I did, and then I met _you,_ and… Everything fell into place." He sighs, and David wraps his free arm around Patrick's waist, pulling him closer. "I didn't realize how hard it'd be to come back and face that."

"Face what, Patrick?"

"That I buried another part of myself. Again."

He doesn't realize it's the truth until it flies out of his mouth. When he moved to Schitt's Creek, he really tried to put all of this behind him and start over. The truth came back to bite him, time and time again — between Rachel showing up at the barbeque and David inviting Patrick's parents to his birthday — but the _real_ lesson didn't sink in until now.

He couldn't force himself to be something he wasn't back then. Hard as he tried, he couldn't make the pieces fit… but he swept that profound unhappiness under the rug instead of exploring _why_ something felt missing with Rachel. Because it was easier than straying from the path that stretched in front of him: a wife, kids, the whole shebang. 

That was his first mistake. 

But, by trying to compartmentalize, isn't Patrick doing the same thing? This time, he hasn't been burying his unhappiness, obviously, but he _has_ been burying his shame, hasn't he? There was the shame for hurting Rachel, shame for not realizing the truth sooner, for pretending _for so long_ … It's why he hid it from David, why he didn't tell his parents sooner, why he tried to put his life before Schitt's Creek on a shelf.

He can't do that anymore.

"Look," David says. "If you'd asked me six years ago, I would've told you that people don't change. That, deep down, people _are_ who they _are,_ and anyone who buys into anything else has watched _way_ too many episodes of Oprah and needs to get a grip."

Patrick can't help but smile just a tad. "And what do you think now?"

David puts his hand on his cheek. "I think that I'm lying in a full-sized bed, with my _husband,_ surrounded by sports memorabilia because our _cottage_ is being renovated." He raises a brow. "Six years ago, this was a pipe dream. Actually, it wasn't _even_ a pipe dream because I never thought I wanted it. Or deserved it. Or…" He swallows. "The point is, people, do change. People _grow._ Just because you've learned more about yourself since then doesn't mean you're a different person. It's all… I don't know. Different parts of you."

Patrick considers that for a moment. "That's… actually very wise, David."

"Mmkay, I could do without the tone of _surprise._ "

"What can I say?" Patrick teases. "You are an enigma, David Rose."

When he leans in for a kiss, warmth bursts in his chest, and it's strange, but he suddenly gets the feeling that he's right where he's supposed to be — finally whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr.](https://davidbrewer.tumblr.com/)


End file.
